End of their Game
by Drawde Noel
Summary: Schuldig's thoughts about Brad and how their "game" is coming to an end. Updated. Second chapter. Starting to deal with why Schuldig is so fond of everyone's favorite precog. Yaoi Shonenai citrus. Please, only helpful reviews that will help me
1. Prologue

Weiss Kreuz belongs to Koyasu Takehito of course, so please don't sue me. The most you'll get is a few pennies.

End of the Game

Crawford. Attitude: I'm better than you are, and I always will be. Funny thing is, it's the truth. He has brains; he has everything he wants, because he knows what he wants. And damn, if he doesn't have what he wants, he's going to get it, and he's going to get it soon.  
So how about me then? Attitude: Mocking. Mocking. All I can do is mock, mess with your head, yeah I can do that. Unlike him, I don't know what I want. ...That's not entirely true, I know something. Him. I want Crawford. And I usually do get what I want, but... not with him. Its not the matter of, I want it so I get it. It doesn't work that way. I can't just want him and then get him. He has to WANT me. I want him to want me. I'll make him want me... easy enough to say, hard to do. But, maybe its not so hard... 

Another mission completed, but not without its problems. So I was bleeding; well hell, the bullet only grazed my arm, but he's acting like I fucked up the whole mission. (Sorry to interrupt, I do not usually cuss, but since I am writing this story and in STORY mode then I will.) And I told him that, so he wrenched my arm, my bad arm, and then pulled me into the bathroom. I had sat on the toilet scowling at him as he searched through the medicine, for the most painful one probably. When he turned back he met my scowl with tired eyes. I hate when his eyes look tired... somehow it makes me sad... I don't like seeing him like that.. I don't like seeing that weakness... knowing that even Brad Crawford could have a weakness.. It's not right... You of all people, you shouldn't have one defect. You are strong. You could rule the world if you wanted, if you tried hard enough... So I follow, like a little lovesick puppy... Damn, that's what I sound like too, sitting there, thinking of how tired he looks, yet how he still can look so good.

He kneels in front of me, I didn't even notice; still lost in the tiredness of his creamy eyes, well not until he put the medicine on my arm. Damn, it stung. I hissed and pulled away from him, or tried, he just pulled me back and cleaned out the wound. I then watched as he wrapped it up, carefully. When he was done he pulled away to wash my blood off his hands. I watched it drain down the sink, dripping from his hands. He turned back to me, watching me, deadly silent. I sighed and apologized, muttering it lowly, knowing he would still hear. He walked to me, and I expected the same old speech. It never came. Instead he lifted my arm and kissed my wound... I don't think I've ever gotten over the shock.

Brad Crawford, THE Brad Crawford, bastard extraordinaire, was kissing my wound... He lifted his head and looked at me at the sharp intake of breath I took. Our eyes locked and I read them. Tiredness because of me, because I'm reckless... because he... because he cares for me? Because.. Why? ... Brad... His lips rise up and press against mine and we are lost in each other, my lips open welcoming his tongue, and I still cannot release my breath. It didn't matter... If I died, I would die happy. But before I could, he pulled back, swiftly running his tongue over my bottom lip, and the breath left me.

"Schuldig... Stop being so reckless."  
  
A nod, I finally opened my eyes and looked up at him. I could only sigh as he reached down, lifted me in his arms and carried me off to his room. So... maybe he does want me. I should know by now not to ask questions, they're never answered... But, why? It doesn't matter, does it? No, all that matters now is the way his skin feels against mine.

So, that was it... Review please? I don't know if I'm going to keep this as a one-chapter thing, it depends how many reviews I get. I was thinking about writing about before the mission, instances where their "game" got better, but I don't know. Review with ideas? Or tell me if you like that one, please? Thanks.

Drawde Noel


	2. Contorted Memories

End of Their Game; Chapter One

Before this chapter begins please note that the first one was the prologue. This is an incident from Schuldig's past.

WARNING: This does include rape, I tried to make it vague but it just didn't work, it is a citrus.. I just hope I don't get this story booted...

Anyway, you do NOT have to read this chapter to understand the rest of the story... because I have no plot? Anyway... that is the warning.

Something was pounding into his side. With every pound the pain increased. This pain slithered throughout the youth's torso, snaking up a secret passage way, like a back alley up his spine, straight to his head. The rhythmic pounding, thrashing, beating, sent spurts of red lights through his mind and field of vision. Abruptly ashen light exploded throughout the room, spreading over his vision, blurring with the red, mixing and mixing. Arms stained with rouge, with crimson, with red velvet lifted, flexing, a body suspended in the air because of them. One slender hand snaked down, reaching down the flesh of his torso, down his flank. No, that is not where the pain is from... back lower, back ... back. The back. The fingers reached around, trembling slightly, looking for their finding, for their discovery and when at last they found it, laid in the crimson ripped flesh they wanted, they withdrew, frightened.

"Was ist...?"

A door opened somewhere, far or near, he could not tell anymore. Shock had already settled its way over the youth's mind, the crimson stain on his fingers laughing at him. The door now shut, near far, still hard to tell. Footsteps resonating in the chilly air of the room. The room, this room... So cold, frozen, empty harsh, a morgue of bodies long dead, a crypt, nothingness over the walls. Barren, bleak, empty! Save for the small stretcher the youth's body sat upon placed in the center of the room, a steel stage, holding up the actor, the scenery, a stained mattress.

The patting of soft feet ceased. A quick intake of breath, the youth knew what to expect, knew the hand that snatched out, grasped forcefully, greedily, hungrily. He complied with the hand that twisted at that wrist, that wrist that led to the hand stained by scarlet. The youth's body crashed to the floor, no resistance making his limbs fly in all different directions, his head luckily landing on his arm, avoiding the sickening rendezvous it would have had with the cement that he know laid upon. The pain that had been racking through his side and that had snaked up through his head now snaked through his whole body. The youth heard his own groan, his own cry of pain loudly.

"Next time perhaps you'll think before trying to sneak out, right, mein spielzeug?"

The youth did not answer. Did not see a reason to, no reason to answer the man when he knew that his spielzeug would not try to do anything so foolish again. The youth lowered his head and bit down on his lower trembling lip, hard. His eyes did not open until he heard the sound of liquid bouncing, landing, dripping on the cold cement. Copper, God how he hated that taste, hated the taste of blood in his mouth, swirling over his tongue. The sensation of pain in his lip compared in no way to the pain that coursed its way upon and down, along his back. His body racked, buckled, fell again, no use in trying to pick himself back up only to fall again. Pain, ache, throbbing, God!

His ears picked up the sound of the man snarling something along the lines of, "Something the matter?" Then the scuffing of expensive Italian boots across the floor as he propelled himself to kick out against the young body that lay before him. A hiss racked out of the youth's swollen lips, echoing around the room, slipping out the open door, gliding down through the darkness of the hallway.

"...Why can't... I think straight...?" the youth managed to croak that much out, that much and then his lips slammed shut, this throat constricting harshly.

"Aren't you wondering where this wound came from?" A snarl, then a quick movement, the sound of a business suit shuffling, a swift hand coming to smack directly on the spot below the wound. Another hiss, another sound lost by the dark confines of the room and the dreary hallway. Another shudder of the slender, fragile body racking its way down and up, coursing through.

"...Why.. can't I read your mind?" the youth spat, his throat panging so painfully, so harshly, so badly!

"The wound. Do you actually think I would shoot you to kill you, spielzeug? I'm not about to let you get out of this that easily. We do have archers, and the drugs we have here are highly potent. Now then, I think it is time for your punishment before we bandage you up."

The youth sucked in another breath, another and another. He heard the zipper, heard the man's pants ruffle and then the soft pat of them meeting the floor in a heap. He felt and heard the tugging of his own pants and underwear, being pulled, ripped harshly from his hips down off his legs and thrown across the room to collide gently with the wall. He heard the sound of skin gliding against skin, a soft groan, and then he could almost hear, _feel_ the smile that curved on the man's face. The man's hands were cold, like ice upon his thighs. Oh God, on his thighs moving upwards, still cold, like ice. Fingers of ice trailing up his thighs, reaching for the treasure that rested between them. The youth let out a gasp so soft he wasn't sure the man heard it. He felt the ice on him, twirling in his secret hair, and then just as suddenly as they were there, they were gone. His body was pulled up, tossed over the stretcher, his face pressed into the foul smelling material. He felt his legs being spread and then the ice was back.

Ice, ice over his most secret of places, over his flesh, up and down, gripping and slapping. Spreading.. spreading. The youth shuddered as he felt the ice probing its way, finding the secrets that lay between the two hills of flesh it was probing. A shiver ran down his body as he was pushed more against the stretcher, the coldness of its frame pressed against his member. And then all he could do was focus on the pain. It racked through his body, ripping through, adding to the pain that was already inside of him.

And then it was gone, and then back, and then gone and back, with each thrust sending the youth crushed more and more against the mattress. The taste of blood filled his mouth again, that copper taste and he realized that his whole lip was split beneath his grinding teeth. He cried out again and again. Each thrust sending more jolts of pain through him, more pain! After long torture the pain was gone, finally gone but to the youth's dismay he heard a final groan and felt the release of liquid on his backside. Sick.. it was so.. sick.

He slumped to the floor and as soon as he landed, vomit spewed from his mouth across the floor. It washed over the cool gray of the cement and made him even more sick. He gulped air, drank it over and over. Couldn't... breathe.... couldn't swallow... more vomit... He sensed the hand coming for the back of his head seconds before it landed, but did nothing to stop it. He crashed down at the impact, his face landing in his own mess, cheek smearing over the ground as his body finally gave up and just slumped over.

Sorry if that offended anyone in anyway. I'm working on more chapters and this story is going to be really random... that's the way I work and that's the way I like my stories, so sorry if you don't .... Review? Tell me if I suck and should just stop? Thanks

Drawde Noel


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